Dazzle Me (When You Dance Book 1)

by Juliana Haygert

  “I …I wasn’t thinking, okay? But it’s over now. I promise I won’t do it again.”

  “Somehow I doubt that, but don’t worry. My friends will be all over you when you do. If they see you out again like that, be sure I’ll tell Mom and Dad, and I’m betting they won’t be as nice as I am right now.”

  “Jerk.”

  I snorted. “Tell me something new.”

  She hung up and I hissed at my phone. I almost called her back to yell at her some more, but decided it was best if I just went for a run to burn off my frustration instead.

  ***

  Rayna

  I opened one eye and spied my cell phone ringing on top of my nightstand—and making my headache worse. Groaning, I buried my head under my pillow, trying to hide from whoever was calling. The phone stopped ringing, and I sighed in relief. But the silence only lasted for ten seconds before it began again.

  I reached for the phone and answered without looking at the screen.

  “Hello?”

  “Rayna?” It was my mother, of course. “Sorry to disturb your practice, honey.” Practice? I checked the time on the alarm clock on my nightstand. Holy crap, it was almost two in the afternoon. “I just wanted to make sure everything is all right for Tuesday.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” I sat up, still fighting the damned headache as I tried my best to sound awake, and not like I was still in bed and hung over to boot. “Everything is ready. Don’t worry.”

  “I’m not worried,” she lied. She did that a lot when it came to dance. She tried to be nonchalant about it, but I knew she worried I wouldn’t make it as far as she did. And we both wanted me to go even further. “I know you’ll do great.”

  “Thanks,” I mumbled.

  “Okay, I gotta go,” she said. “If you need anything, let me know.” That was her code for I-can-call-the-company-and-ask-for-anything. I didn’t want her help, though. I wanted to earn my spot in the company, get in by myself, get promoted on my merit. Not because my mother pulled some strings. “Talk to you later.”

  “Bye,” I said before ending the call.

  I dropped the phone on my bed and buried my head under the pillow again.

  Goddamn it, what a headache. Why, why did I drink so much last night? If I hadn’t drunk that much, I wouldn’t have followed Josh out of the bar, I wouldn’t have provoked him, I wouldn’t have invited him to my apartment, and none of what followed would have happened.

  A lot of it was hazy, but I remembered being abandoned half-naked in my own bed.

  Heat crept up my face—a combination of built-up desire, embarrassment, and anger. Ugh. I punched the mattress. What the hell had I been thinking? Drinking until I was throwing myself at guys? That was so not like me. In fact, I rarely went out with my friends, let alone dated or kissed random strangers.

  And sex … the last time I had had sex was with my high school boyfriend. At the time, I didn’t think it, but now I knew he had manipulated me. He made me feel guilty that I spent so much time dancing and dedicating myself to my dream, so when he pressured me to sleep with him, to prove to him that I loved him, I’d agreed. After that, we slept together six more times, and then he dumped me.

  I would never forget his last words to me.

  “You show more emotion when you’re up on the stage than when I’m inside you.”

  I guess he was right. I hadn’t felt much when we were making love—if that was what I was supposed to call it. I mean, it was nice, but I imagined it would be magical like it seemed to be in movies and books. Maybe it wasn’t for me, the whole relationship and love thing. Maybe I would be like my mother and dance would be my only real love. If I had any children, I wouldn’t even love them like I loved dance. Better not to have them, then.

  My bed felt so good, but I had things to do. A new step in my career started tomorrow and I had to get ready for it. I had to practice.

  After a shower, some pain medication, and coffee, I entered the bonus room my mother had turned into a small in-home studio for us.

  Once I started dancing, the pain, the embarrassment, the hurt … they all disappeared. There was only me, my body, my movements, and the music.

  At some point, my cell phone rang again. Once, twice, three times. This time, I didn’t care though. Even if it was my mother.

  Right now, I was exactly where I should be. Always.

  ***

  Josh

  I stopped in front of the five-story building. Old fashioned, with a high first floor, gray bricks, small windows, and a rusty fire escape ladder—it was very New York City.

  I took in a deep breath. Here was my future. This was my moment. After years of dreaming and transferring and lying, I had finally come to the place where I had always wanted to be.

  This was major. One of the best days of my life. One that I would forever celebrate. And I had no one to celebrate with.

  I glanced at the phone in my hand. For a moment, I considered calling my mom. But why? She didn’t know about this, and what would she say? She would probably ask me how my classes were going, if I was liking my new college, if I was having too much fun.

  She, my father, and my sister had no idea where exactly I was. If they knew, they would laugh at me, and then think I was goofing around, having some fun.

  As if this was just fun.

  This … this was way more.

  I stared at the big white and black letters on the building’s facade:

  New York Ballet Theater.

  After countless hours in private dance studios, plus two summer internships with two great dance schools, I had finally made it.

  I pocketed my phone, held on to the strap of my bag, and walked on. Painfully aware of each of my movements, I touched the knob of the double glass door, the same knob many of the great ones had touched too, and pulled it open.

  The first floor was small, since a big specialty shop took up most of the space. The interior was almost as old as the exterior, but more elegant and fancy. Once past the doors, there was a sitting area with a big crystal chandelier, fancy rugs, impossibly white couches, and a reception desk made of a polished ebony-black wood. Behind the desk and the two receptionists was a grand curved staircase with red carpet leading to the elevators.

  I was directed to the second floor, where the locker rooms and the main classrooms were located. I entered the men’s locker room and I was met with twelve other faces. Most said “hi” or “hey,” while three introduced themselves. Connor, Bastian, and Wu, all veterans here.

  After changing, I followed them into one of the classrooms.

  The days here began with a ninety-minute class starting at 9:30 a.m. in any of the four big classrooms—there was always one instructor in each class, with a slightly different routine. That was followed by a meeting with the entire corps de ballet, and sometimes with soloists and principal dancers too, where the upcoming weeks were discussed—things like rehearsal schedule, upcoming events, and other important info.

  At 11:30, rehearsals started in the third-floor studios. There was a quick lunch break around 1:30 p.m.—the exact time depended on how rehearsals were going—then it was back to rehearsing. At six in the evening, there was another optional ninety-minute class in the second-floor classrooms. Both morning and evening classes were offered even on our off days, Sundays and Mondays. Although, during performance season, the later class was canceled.

  Since I intended to be noticed around here, I planned on keeping my lunch breaks short and going to all the optional classes.

  Hopefully, I would always be home by eight, though, so I could rest well for the next day.

  “Everyone to room E on the third floor, please,” said Miss Salenko, a former principal with the Russian Ballet and my current instructor, once the pianist stopped playing.

  Leaning on the barre, I wiped my face and hands on my towel, grateful I had made it through class without any mishaps.

  Walking beside Bastian and Wu, Connor turned to me. “Coming?”


  “Yeah.” I pushed off the barre and caught up with them.

  In the hallway, we were joined by the rest of the crew exiting the other two classrooms. I saw many famous faces—Alberto Dolle, Kerman Tornejo, Marcel Tomes, Paulina Ferrera, Jilian Kenty, and Jaime Blackside. Just like in any other dance company, some of them had their heads high and barely acknowledged the people around them, while others talked and laughed with the rest as if they all were best friends since kindergarten.

  “What do you think of your first day so far?” Wu asked. He had a strong Asian accent.

  “I haven’t seen or done enough to have an opinion yet,” I said as we rounded a corner to the stairs.

  Three girls stepped in front of us.

  “Her mother works here in the company,” the tallest of the three said.

  “No way!” the redhead said, her jaw hanging open for a second. “So, she got in because of her mother?”

  “That’s what everyone is saying,” the shortest said.

  The tall one shrugged. “You saw her in class. She isn’t that great.”

  “Her mother must have pulled some strings,” the short one said.

  Bastian shook his head. “Girls,” he mumbled.

  I chuckled. He was right. Girls were the queens of drama. Here it was, first day back from collective vacation and they were already gossiping. However, I could bet that with the competitiveness and the hardship, even the guys got reeled into some drama at times. And that could endanger their reputation, their standing within the company. I would have to be careful not to step on anyone’s toes, at least not until I had made a name for myself and, hopefully, been promoted to soloist.

  If the good gods of dance and gossip allowed, I would never be part of any drama.

  We entered room E—a big classroom with white walls, lots of mirrors, and five small windows—and stood near the back. The other guys talked about what they had done during their vacations while I observed as the dancers poured in. Five apprentices, sixty corps de ballet, ten soloists, and fifteen principals. There were also about ten to fifteen guest artists from all around the world, along with The Little NYBT, a company of about twenty dancers who were being specially trained to join the main cast.

  While waiting, I met a few other dancers—some were just starting like me, and some were a little more seasoned. Cory had been in the corps de ballet for five years, Alejandro for seven, Antoine for two, and Zack had stepped up from The Little NYBT.

  So far, I was pleased with all the people I was meeting. Maybe I would make some real friends here.

  As the crowd grew, males and females mixed, and then those three girls were in front of us again.

  “Oh, there she is,” the short one said, bumping her elbow on the redhead’s arm. “The one whose mother helped her get in.”

  The redhead snapped her head to the door. “So, that’s her.”

  On instinct, I turned my head to the door too.

  And stopped breathing as Rayna stepped into the classroom.

  Chapter Five

  Rayna

  “Ignore them,” Alicia whispered as we entered classroom E.

  Easier said than done.

  I sighed and walked with her to the back of the classroom, where I could hide behind everyone.

  Of course I knew everyone would find out who my mother was and think she helped me get in. I mean, it wasn’t every dancer whose mother was a former almost principal ballerina, now residing on the executive committee. I just didn’t think it would happen on my first day!

  “You know you deserve to be here, regardless of who your mother is,” Alicia continued. She held my hand in hers and squeezed. “I know it too.”

  Forcing a little smile—which I was sure didn’t fool her—I nodded.

  I walked by Alberto Dolle and he smiled at me. “Rayna! I knew you would make it. Congratulations.”

  My cheeks heated up. Several heads turned to watch us. “Thanks,” I mumbled without stopping.

  Once safely in the back, I leaned against a barre and crossed my arms.

  “Undo that frown,” Alicia said. “Or you’ll soon look forty, not twenty.”

  “I’m not twenty yet.”

  She winked. “I know.”

  Miss Gallant, one of our ballet masters entered the classroom holding a clipboard and pen. She didn’t address the dancers, though, so I assumed she was waiting for someone else.

  To distract myself, I looked around. Because of my mother, I already knew a lot of the dancers here, but there were a lot of new faces too—some young like Alicia or even younger, and some almost too old to be starting. Hopefully at least some of them wouldn’t hear about who my mother was before getting to know me, and so wouldn’t judge me too harshly.

  The three girls who had been talking about me in the studio downstairs were a few feet to my right, and they were staring at me and whispering like high schoolers. Well, they didn’t look much older than that.

  I rolled my eyes and forced my gaze to move on. I did a double-take and froze. My heart squeezed.

  “Oh my God,” I whispered, reaching for Alicia’s hand.

  She was already reaching for mine too. “What?”

  I was finally able to turn and looked at her with wide eyes. “Josh is here.”

  She chuckled. “You’re funny.”

  “I’m serious!”

  Her laughter died. “What? No. No way.” She glanced over my shoulder. “Holy shit!”

  Holy shit indeed. What the hell was Josh doing here? I mean, I kind of knew from his fitted pants and tight sleeveless tee and slippers. It couldn’t be, though. That was too much of a coincidence.

  “Did you know?” Alicia asked.

  “No!” Warmth spread through my cheeks. “We didn’t exactly talk much that night.” Before he abandoned me half-naked in my bed.

  As much as I tried not to, I looked over my shoulder. He was staring at me, those bright blue eyes brewing like a storm.

  He was too handsome, even more than I remembered. Those blue eyes really did go well with his short dark hair and tanned skin. Hard lines from his chin and jaw opposed the smoothness from his full lips. He had one of those faces that was too perfect to be true, like a movie actor or a rock star. Not to mention his body. So dancing was the reason his body was so lean and ripped. I should have known. Damn, he looked too good in dance clothes. I could see every muscle in his shoulders and arms. I bet he could lift his dancing partners as if they were feathers, and I bet those partners felt like heaven when being held by him.

  I knew I had.

  A pang ran through my chest and I averted my eyes.

  Why did the universe have to be so cruel? Had I done something to deserve a punishment like this?

  Devin McCauley, the artistic director, entered the classroom followed by a few instructors and ballet masters. He greeted everyone, welcomed the new members, and launched into his plans for the year—several competitions, a tour in Australia, back to the U.S. for the Christmas season, annual trip to Chicago, annual spring season … I didn’t hear the rest.

  I was too aware of Josh’s presence and the fact that he was still staring at me. And I was too busy being embarrassed and self-conscious—I would probably need some Jell-O shots to keep me going if our paths were going to cross too often. Hopefully, they wouldn’t. Hopefully, he would be assigned to a different classroom than me, and he would rehearse for different ballets, with different dancers.

  The chances were low, but I hung onto them. Otherwise, I would go insane by the end of the week—I knew myself and I knew I wasn’t exaggerating.

  Finally, they assigned groups.

  “As they frequently change, these will be posted outside, so check them often. For today, I’ll read it out loud.” Devin rattled off a list of names—including mine and Alicia’s—and assigned us to classroom F. He turned a page and continued, but only one caught my attention. Joshua Connelly was assigned to stay in room E. Devin continued with two more groups in two different clas
srooms. “All right, you’re dismissed.” He nodded and stepped back.

  Everyone started moving.

  Without looking back, Alicia and I followed the others and exited the classroom.

  “Are you okay?” Alicia asked in a low voice.

  I shrugged. “I … I don’t know.”

  “We’re so gonna talk about this later.”

  “I know.”

  She entered classroom F two steps ahead of me. I was about to follow her in when an arm shot in front of me, blocking my way. My eyes slid up that arm, and met Josh’s face. He was standing only a couple of inches from me.

  My breath caught.

  “Can we talk?” he asked, his voice rough, hard.

  I glanced down. “I have to—”

  “Hey, can we get moving?” a guy behind me asked.

  Josh wrapped his hand around my wrist and pulled me away from the door, and right into him. My hands shot up, trying to find my balance, but they only found Josh’s hard chest. Hot damn. I dropped my hands and stepped back.

  “I-I should get into the classroom,” I said, my voice quavering.

  He leaned into me and lowered his voice. “We need to talk.”

  Oh my God, this was too much. His presence, his being right in my face, his scent, his voice, his lips that had kissed mine with such fervor. Heat crawled up my cheeks.

  “No, we don’t,” I said, equally low. “Just … pretend we never met before.” I forced a smile and stuck out my hand in between us. “Hi. I’m Rayna. Nice to meet you.” He frowned at my hand, his jaw working. “Right. Okay. See you around.” I turned my back on him and rushed into the classroom.

  Alicia was near the door, waiting for me. “Where did you go?”

  “Josh pulled me aside.”

  Her eyes widened. “Really?” I nodded. She nudged me with her elbow. “Come on, spill. I want every detail.” She was probably curious since I hadn’t told her everything. The only thing she knew so far was that I had left with a guy named Josh.